Unyielding
by Renard Noir
Summary: Life is an ever expanding ocean of decisions. One wrong move can fill you with enough regret to pull you under and leave you to drown. What happens when the once amenable Hermione Granger becomes unyielding? HG/MM (Eventually - Be patient!)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - All credit for reminding me of my passion for writing and providing me with the courage to believe in my ability to do so should be given to my remarkable wife, McGonagall's Bola. Without her, my life would be devoid of color. I hope you enjoy.**

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Standing precariously at the edge of a sharp cliff and watching as the foamy ocean waves lap ceaselessly against the jagged rock face below always manages to remind me of my life and what it has become. The constant pushing and pulling is like so many hands incessantly attempting to drag the once unyielding rock in all different directions. The crag, stalwart in its resolve to remain the bastion of stability against the vastness of the endless blue beyond – it always yields eventually, piece by piece.

I, too, have yielded – far too many times.

There are times, while I balance here along the edge allowing my more frantic thoughts to be drowned out by the dull roar of this captivating scene, that I allow myself to imagine how it would feel to be lost at sea.

I would drift along the surface, bobbing and swaying with the ever shifting waters beneath me, my only company the birds and fish who make this isolated area of the world their home. I would be alone with my mind, then, and I imagine that I would retreat inward – locking myself away to spend my final days reflecting on the woman, no the girl, that I once was.

I remember being happy, then.

Fourteen years ago, today, I made the single worst decision of my entire life.

In 1999, one year after the Battle at Hogwarts, I found myself sitting at the Weasley table, as was customary on Saturday nights. The entire family and extended family were there, dining together, when Ron reached for his glass of fire whiskey and tapped it with a metal spoon. He informed the large gathering that he had an announcement to make; he told them all that we were getting married, if I would have him.

How was I supposed to be able to turn him down amongst so many expectant faces?

I wasn't, and that was the point; checkmate, Ron. Let it never be said that the man cannot formulate a strategic attack. For that is decisively what it was, an attack – a carefully and meticulously planned and scheduled opportunity to force me to become the next Molly Weasley. I didn't realize it then, but I would soon.

It was less than a year later that Ron began dropping hints about bearing children. In his approach, he was as subtle as a hippogryph. We were lying in bed when his hand slid over my hip as he reminded me that his mother and father had begun trying on their wedding night, and I cannot say that I was surprised. It was our first true screaming match, and I went to bed the victor.

My victory did not last for long.

Five years is a remarkably brief time to remain in control when everything that matters to you is on the line. It was five long years of hurtful words, malicious insinuations, and precisely maneuvered betrayals by those I had once called my friends.

I will never forget the first time that Harry, in the softest of voices that I had ever heard, told me that if I loved Ron I would simply do all that it took to make him happy. I had expected it from Ginny, but from Harry it had cut me to my core. It was through that first cut that my resolve began to seep.

In the end, nothing remained – it had only been a matter of time.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I welcome your thoughts and hope that you enjoy.**

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My forehead is pressed hard against the eggshell white door that separates our bedroom from the remainder of the house. Just beyond the hallway, I can hear the sounds of laughter following another of my husband's brash jokes. I remove my hand from the doorknob where it has been resting for the past fifteen minutes and place it on the swell of my belly, full and round with child. As the memories slowly wash over me, my eyes drift closed and years of unshed tears roll uninhibited down my cheeks.

I remember the day of conception so vividly, even now almost eight months later. For five years I had held my ground against the man who made me his bride and those that I call my friends. I had triumphed over countless conversations about making Ronald happy, about the "Weasley" way. I had stood tall amidst accusations of being more dedicated to my work at the Ministry than to my marriage. Each day, though, my resolve had begun to weaken. Slowly, I had begun to yield again.

The cozy cottage that Ronald and I had moved into the day after our wedding consisted of just five rooms – two bedrooms, a bathroom, the kitchen, and the den. Many of our friends frequently questioned why we had chosen to take such a diminutive home when our status in wizarding society could afford us much more luxury. The truth behind it is, I never could stomach large houses. As an only child, I remembered well the feeling of being swallowed whole by the space in which you lived.

Before I discovered the world of magic, I was often found tucked away in a small corner of my room with naught but a book to keep me company, the world woven between the pages my only escape. I devoured the words with an indescribable hunger, accompanying the described characters on every new adventure as though it were my own. Books, for me, were a substitute for human company – that of my constantly working parents, and that of my non-existent friends. I had never quite managed to make friends before I began my new life in the wizarding world – a fact that Ron has always been quick to remind me.

He had again, that night, as we lay in bed. Addicted to the fame that had come from our adventures as the Golden Trio, he frequently would reminisce about how he, Harry, and I had become friends. After a long and tedious recount of our rise to stardom amidst the fall of the Dark Lord, his hand had slid over my hip, again. "You know, sometimes I wonder where you would've ended up if we hadn't taken to ya, Harry and I. I bet you'd still be stuck with your nose in a book." He pressed himself against me, then, his breath on the back of my neck as his lips brushed the edge of my ear, "If it hadn't been for us, for me, where would you be? I've done a great deal for ya, Mione. How often do I ask for you to do the same for me?"

So many nights, I had risen from our bed upon hearing similar words, but that night, I did not. Several hours prior, inside a small café near the Ministry of Magic, Ginny and Harry had reminded me how important becoming a father was to my husband. Together, they had told me of Ronald's recent conversations with them about losing hope that I would ever be ready to raise a family together. With pleading eyes, they asked if I may one day reconsider. Knowing my obligation to the marriage that I had entered, I culpably began to see that it was only my lack of acquiescence to this natural request that was preventing his happiness. That is why, after five years of standing strong in my convictions, I lifted my husband's hand from my hip, turned to face him, and pressed my lips to his.


End file.
